Memoirs of ... something

Memoirs have always interested me. I think everyone has a story to tell ... and having read a number of memoirs over the years, it's unfortunately obvious that not everyone needs to tell his or her story. I've heard many different things regarding Jeannette Walls's The Glass Castle, both good and bad, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Nothing like making up one's own mind, don't you know.

Oh my.

I think Walls is a good writer. She's concise, interesting, never too flashy or too simple. There's a smoothness to her work that's gratifying. I've never liked reading "easy" stuff. Well, that's not entirely true. I've been known to read some fluff and/or trash now and then ... but I do primarily like books with some meat to them. I like to be challenged ... to have to think and digest. I consider myself a voracious reader. It's nothing for me to read more than one book in a week ... but I do go sometimes for a couple weeks without reading anything new. Reading is quite simply one of the lovely pleasures of life for me ... and it helps foster my love of words like nothing else. But back to The Glass Castle.

As I said -- I don't discount the author's ability to spin a yarn. I just don't believe 80% of what she says she went through. Maybe I'm being too judgmental ... but I just can't buy it. I won't go on and on about the absolute insanity of her childhood, but suffice to say she's painted a really grim and, in my opinion, highly improbable existence. Was I entertained? For the most part, sure. But I have to say, my disbelief and skepticism colored the book for me quite a bit. If it's true, bully for her for pulling herself up and making a success of her adulthood. And how sad that it took all that misery, poverty, and downright abuse to get her where she is today. If it's bunk ... well, she sure has cashed in on pressing all the right buttons. I don't know whether to applaud her or throw shit at her. It also makes me want to write about my childhood -- cuz honey, I've got some stories that'd spin just about anyone into orbit. But Walls ... well, hell. I've not been so divided about something I've read since college.

And I suppose that makes the book perfect for me. It certainly challenged me. I certainly had to give it thought, consideration, and let it "gel" in my head. It made me think about my crazy brother, my crazier sister, my alcoholic father, and my "whatever gets you through it all" mother. Hmmmm. Self reflection. Coming to terms with weird shit from one's childhood. Therapy via memoir. Damn! Maybe Jeannette Walls is brilliant...